Search & Destroy
by Superficial Faith
Summary: AU: Surviving the attack on Virmire, Nihlus finds his former mentor falsely accused of murdering an Asari nurse while awaiting trial and recovering from his attempt on the Citadel.  Mass Kink fill.
1. Chapter 1

_ The patient is a 44 year-old biotic Turian male by the name of Saren Arterius admitted to the Citadel Intensive Care Unit due to a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head. Patient was unconscious during time of entry and suffered from severe blood loss but responded well to transfusion treatments provided by an anonymous donor. _

_ Mr. Arterius suffers from oculocutaneous albinism but has had a high rate of success with modern treatments and surgeries to increase vision and UV radiation protection. No known allergies to dextro-amino proteins._

_ It is expected that, after recovery, the patient will have damage to the occipital lobe and primary motor cortex, causing vision loss and the deterioration of fine motor skills._

_ The Alliance Council is covering all related medical fees._

###

The Asari nurse sighed as she disposed of her surgical gloves in the nearest biomedical waste receptacle. She had seen and worked on many patients in her three-hundred-year career, but never had she dealt with one as surly and ill-tempered as the one currently under her care.

The Asari nurse was named T'Nia Dalliri, and she had been transferred to the Citadel Intensive Care Unit from her place as the supervisor for the Center of Biotic Rehabilitation in order to supervise a Turian biotic that had just been admitted to the hospital. She missed her work at the Center, in all honesty, where she helped others develop their biotic powers and fitted them with the most up-to-date L3 biotic implants on the market.

Her patient was Saren Arterius and a former Spectre. He had been a common sight at the Center as a lecturer on the rarity that was Turian biotics. However, despite his contributions, he was a terrible patient to work with. T'Nia had worked as an assistant on one of his implant surgeries, and the Turian was unruly during his post-surgical recovery stages. Many of the nurses and hospital staff still had the facial scars to prove it.

"Ms. Dalliri, patient 49 in Ward 3 requests your assistance."

The Asari huffed at the voice over the intercom.

"Mr. Lowenk and his chronic hypochondria can wait. I'm in the middle of performing Mr. Arterius' post-surgical analysis."

While T'Nia didn't consider herself guilty of practicing blatant speciesism, she couldn't help but feel contempt towards some of the human race. Most of the patients in the Intensive Care Unit at the Citadel were C-Sec officers of the Turian and human variety. The majority were hard workers, of course, but others, particularly on the human side of things, were incredibly lazy and tried to get out of any work that might dirty their hands.

Michael Lowenk was one such case, admitted to the hospital every week with some new illness or another. While T'Nia preferred not to treat him and waste her energies that could be used elsewhere, a doctor had signed off on his condition, making whatever Lowenk thought he had legit—no doubt some work of friends in high places..

"What time should I let him know you'll be seeing him, then?"

"Thirty minutes, Nadeen. If he absolutely needs someone before then, the scholar-in-residence, Dr. Solus, may have some time for him. He volunteered to perform today's rounds."

It was a callous move to pass off her problem patient to their current resident scholar, but T'Nia had more important matters to attend to.

Turning her attention back to her workstation, the Asari nurse surveyed the array of implant chips spread out in front of her.

Saren, for all his physical and mental fortitude, was a delicate creature and an anomaly to what was normal Turian physiology—the hardware in front of her was a testament to such. What T'Nia had scattered before her was a number of UV protection dermal implants, ocular vision enhancements, burnt out L3 chips, Geth hardware, and an implant she had never seen before. Small and silver, it still gave off a faint blue glow, even when disconnected from its host.

By all accounts, T'Nia was not even supposed to be in possession of the chip. During the surgery, a C-Sec officer had literally "tagged and bagged" each chip and then carting them off before they could be properly examined. The staff was given the reason of "hazardous material that could cause respiratory problems when exposed to the open air," but T'Nia didn't believe that. This one she had snuck out of the operating room in the pocket of her surgical scrubs—a simple enough task due to the discreet nature of the implant.

Delicately picking the implant up with a pair of tweezers, she wondered where Saren had acquired such a device and who had performed the procedure. The implant had no connection points whatsoever and had seemed to be embedded in the Turian through the sheer force of will. It was a scientific feat she could only marvel at and she wondered why C-Sec didn't want them in the hospital's possession. Such technology could help with the development of future biotic implants and further research would surely benefit the rest of Citadel space.

T'Nia Dalliri would crack the secret of this tiny piece of circuitry and share her discovery with the rest of her colleagues back at the Center. After all, such was her specialty.

###

Nihlus Kryik was, at first glance, not what you'd expect of a model Spectre.

While calm under pressure and delivering his missions flawlessly, the highly-decorated Turian did not exude an uptight demeanor, nor did he flaunt his status. With a young face and a bell-like voice, the only hint that the Turian was of the elite was the silver arc affixed to his armor. Thus, entering the Citadel Hospital's Hemotology department without a large commotion was a simple task. Donating blood, on the other hand, proved to be a little more difficult.

"Hold still. Spectres do not squirm. Un-military. Late for rounds. Need you to cooperate so I can leave."

Nihlus' mandibles flared in mild irritation as he shot a glance at the needle Dr. Mordin Solus had wedged underneath the plates in forearm.

"You'll make sure I continue to remain anonymous?"

"Of course. Patient confidentiality remains first priority; Spectres even more so. You wish for the same recipient?"

"Until I can kill the bastard myself."

For the past week and a half, Nihlus had repeatedly donated blood for Saren's near-constant series of surgeries. Perhaps, were Nihlus a different person, he'd be offering up his blood for different reasons. But instead, it was for yet another mission, if not a more personal one.

"Ah yes, revenge. Common Turian trait. Heal the wounded only to kill them later. I understand."

Nihlus was pretty sure Mordin didn't understand the situation in the slightest, but he wasn't going to try to push the issue. Salarians couldn't be reasoned with. They lived in their own little logical world and couldn't accept their own errors. Not that he didn't think Mordin wasn't a good doctor by any means—he was really one of the best and the hospital was fortunate he was staying in residence—but it did not negate his species' defining traits.

"There. All done. Recommended you stay reclined for fifteen minutes. Need to go. Patients to attend to. Will make sure this gets to the correct personnel." Mordin gestured to the collection bag offhandedly as he pulled the needle from the Spectre's arm. "Replenish your blood sugars. Will be woozy if you don't."

The doctor left the room just as business-like as his orders.

Nihlus made sure Mordin was well out of the room before letting his head drop back down on the padded headrest of the patient recliner with a loud exhalation.

"Spirits, that stings."

Military though he was, Nihlus had a strong distaste towards needles of all kinds. He'd had an unfortunate incident with them during medical in-processing at base camp on Palaven when he first registered with the Turian military and he hadn't been fond of them since.

Since Saren's attack on the Citadel, the Council had ordered a tight hold on Nihlus' actions, and he occasionally saw Shepard unobtrusively watching him from a difference. He didn't begrudge Shepard her orders, but her keen eye was a waste of effort that could be expended elsewhere. It wasn't that Nihlus wasn't angry his former mentor's actions—he was _beyond _angry, to be sure, but he wasn't going to act upon it. At least, not without orders from the Council. Orders he now had.

Tapping twice on his omnitool, he pulled up his current assignment.

_Victim: T'Nia Dalliri_

_ Background: Body found brutally mauled. Forensic reports indicate teeth and claw marks' depth and length are from a fully-adult Turian male, approximately 40 years of age. No signs of a struggle. The victim was discovered in Intensive Care Unit Ward 5, currently occupied by patient former Spectre Saren Arterius. Victim's blood was also found dried on the patient's talons and mandibles with 48 hours of the incident. The Council has reason to suspect Arterius of the crime._

_ Objective: Interrogate and eliminate target._


	2. Chapter 2

The Asari Councillor folded her hands in front of her, leaning down from her place on the podium to level a stern gaze at the solider in front of her.

"Commander Shepard. We're grateful for what you've done for us, but our answer still stands. Saren's current investigation is, and will remain, under the command of Nihlus Kryik."

Jane Shepard considered herself a reasonable woman—perhaps even more so than any other Spectre assigned to the Citadel. Having faced the threat of total annihilation by the Reaper threat of Sovereign, Shepard could keep her cool under pressure and persuade her troops to have nerves of steel. Such, however, was difficult under the constant doubt that the Alliance Council constantly placed in her. If anything, though, Shepard was persistent.

"By letting Nihlus take over this investigation, you are endangering the life of an innocent—his desire for revenge will only cloud his judgement. Saren is weak and infirm, fresh out of surgery. He is not responsible for T'Nia Dalliri's murder."

With a shorter fuse than his counterparts, the Turian Councillor looked outraged at her response.

"Commander Shepard, what you propose is preposterous! Saren is anything but an innocent! He's killed hundreds during the attack on the Citadel! What is one more to him? Barring that, he's vagrantly flaunted his rank in front of us with no regard to the honor that it carries! He's disgraced us all!"

"So you're looking for retribution for your embarrassment then?" Shepard looked disgusted at the very idea. "The man put a bullet though his head! Is that not enough for you?"

The Asari put up her hand for silence, waiting for the room to quiet before she continued as if interruption had never occurred.

"Shepard, I understand your concerns, but it's nothing that we haven't already taken into account. Nihlus' focus is on the safety of the Citadel and its citizens. What happened on Eden Prime will not affect his judgement. We have not told him."

Shepard pursed her lips. While she did not deny that that was probably the best course of action, particularly with Nihlus' relationship with his former mentor rocky at best, she still didn't believe him fit for duty.

When Shepard had returned to the Citadel for her post mission station assignment, the young Turian was still undergoing physical therapy. Saren was not a cheap shot and had severed several nerve endings adjoining the brain to the spinal cord during his attack on Eden Prime. It was a miracle Nihlus was alive, even with the help of the state of the art medical technology that was available only on the Citadel. It was still undecided whether Saren had intentionally missed more vital points by mere millimeters or whether it was simply a stroke of good fortune, but either way, it left the Spectre incapacitated for weeks on end.

It was there, in the suffocating whiteness of Nihlus' private hospital suite, Shepard had watched the Spectre struggle with the pronunciation of his own language—his tongue thick and heavy on painkillers—as she spoke with him.

Smelling of morphine and antiseptic, Nihlus had quite plainly informed her that the Council had not debriefed him post mission when he had regained consciousness. A consequence of his failure, he had thought. All the files regarding the mission to Eden Prime were sealed, including Nihlus' own medical records detailing the extent of his injury. They were apparently being held under tight security where even Spectres could not access them without permission—permission Nihlus was repeatedly denied. Bitter though he was, however, Nihlus was well aware of the political position he held underneath the Council's judgement and did not pursue the issue after being turned away.

Shepard, however, did. It wasn't that she wasn't aware of the power play in the Council's governmental system; she just didn't pay any mind to it.

She did not support the Council's current decisions just so they could assuage their guilt for pulling the blanket over Nihlus' eyes by giving him priority in launching the investigation against T'Nia Dalliri's murder. She was sure they knew very well the Turian Spectre was more than just a slightly resentful towards his former mentor turning his back on Citadel Space.

Shepard remained indignant.

"And if I can find evidence of Saren's innocence before his public execution?"

The Asari Councillor bent down over the railing of the podium to level a caustic gaze at the human Spectre before her.

"The answer, Commander Shepard, is _no_."

Saren Arterius had seen a lot of dead bodies in his twenty-four years of Spectreship. Mangled and disemboweled in all sorts of unpleasant ways, Saren did not let his enemies die a dignified death.

Raised in a military hierarchy on Palaven, the Turian had long ago conquered the knee-jerk reaction to gag when the scent of rotting flesh and drying blood reached his nostrils; a smell that was not welcome in usually sterile hospital rooms.

Turning his head towards the source of the smell, he flicked his mandibles to better take in the moisture in the air around him. Thick and heavy, mixed in with the taste of lysol-based antiseptics, it tasted strongly of metal and levo-amino acids.

He thought, at first, that perhaps the decaying smell was his own bloody bandages that the nurses had forgotten to change. With all his implants removed, the incisions in his skin steadily leaked clear plasma onto the bandages wrapped around him, staining them a faint yellow. He had been denied ocular implants until he recovered from his most recent surgery, another projected month, at least. Born an albino, Saren was literally walking around blind, seeing nothing but blurry shapes of color.

But it wasn't that. It was too strong, too fresh, too _red_.

In his youth, when he had undergone his first round of tests for his albinism, he had baffled the doctors by associating certain smells with colors. Hemoglobin-based blood had a distinctly "red" scent. Turian blood—or anything hemocyanin-based—smelled "blue". Synesthetes were exceedingly rare in the Turian population, and due to the extreme lack of research on the subject, Palaven-based doctors considered it a neurological condition, despite it not affecting Saren's everyday life in the slightest.

Turning his head to the sound of the door of his hospital suite opening, he squinted against the overwhelming blurr of his eyesight, just barely making out the figure of an Asari nurse.

"T'Nia has taken sick leave for the remainder of your expected stay, so I'll be taking over her duties for you." The nurse set the tray of food she was holding onto the desk next to his bed. "Most patients in the ICU don't get breakfast because they're hardly ever awake at this time, but your file says you're an early riser, so I took the initiative and brought the morning meal down from the kitchen for you."

Saren didn't move, instead leveling his gaze on the room's newest occupant.

"T'Nia is dead. Murdered." His voice, while soft from the effort it took to move his vocal cords post-surgery, was serious.

The nurse seemed to jerk back in surprise before composing herself.

"No, Sir. The roster says she's on sick leave."

"Don't be a fool. I can smell her blood in the air. Death was approximately three days ago. That's the thing about blood—no matter how much you scrub, the smell never comes out."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Arterius, but I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You're not even a certified nurse from the Intensive Care Unit. You work for the Council. Everything about you says so. You didn't knock on the door before entering, as is protocol, you brought me food straight from the kitchen even though I've lost my sense of taste, and as blind as I may be, you were still close enough for me to see that your nails have been filed down raw because you were probably assigned the cleanup of the crime scene."

His voice was a low warning growl, now, but it's something his larynx apparently couldn't handle and he burst into a round of deep, ragged-sounding coughs that wracked his entire frame.

The Asari nurse seemed to wait for his coughing to subside—if she was, indeed, truly a nurse—and she reached into her front pocket of her apron to retrieve a small bottle of blue liquid, pouring it onto the spoon she held in her opposite hand.

The smell was wretched—absolutely disgusting—and it wiped any scents Saren may have picked up from the room previously, and he gagged against it, feeling it burn all the way down his throat.

"Here. I was assigned to give this to you." The Asari nurse guided the spoon towards Saren's mouth, and the Turian visibly jerks back from it. "It'll stop your coughing."

Saren didn't believe her—not for the faintest instant. While it did, indeed, smell of cough syrup, there was a faint underlying smell that Saren knew to avoid from previous experiences.

Saren had not, in his years as a Spectre, escaped from his enemies completely unscathed. Efficient though he was, one particular Batarian squad he was assigned to extinguish had caught him, filed down his talons, and bound him to a pole, forcing him to ingest a number of levo-amino-based poisons—smells that had ingrained themselves into his memory, for underneath the scent of mixed menthol and sugars that the nurse held, there was the distinct smell of arsenic.


End file.
